She didn’t have to wake up at five, work out for an hour in her home gym with her trainer, and get her hair and makeup done while her staff prepped her for her day via teleconferences from around the world. She didn’t have to hurry downstairs where her personal chef had a hot breakfast waiting for her. In her real life, she’d have to catch up with the news, make telephone calls, tackle urgent emails in the car, and be at her desk at Blush headquarters by eight thirty sharp.
She had never woken to find herself spread-eagled and naked on the kitchen table.
Mia Hayward’s life was starting to get interesting.
“The bacon’s frozen. Should I defrost it, or pass?” She should pass. As much as she loved bacon, at home she only allowed herself two strips once a month.
“Defrost in the microwave.”
The microwave was in the cabinet beside the stove, necessitating her walking up right beside him. She popped the door to the microwave and shoved the package in. “High?”
“Defrost. You really don’t know your way around a kitchen, do you?”
“I eat out a lot.” Banquet-style meals, dinner meetings at upscale restaurants, or home with her personal chef.
“Come and watch.”
Leaning her hip against a nearby counter, eager to watch. Him, not him cooking. Mia put her hands behind her, then realized it was the gesture of a three-year-old and stuck her fingertips in her front pockets of her shorts instead. She was almost as fascinated by her response to Cruz as she was by Cruz himself.
“Closer.”
“I can see just fine from here.”
“Hands-on cooking can be a very sensual experience. What’s the matter? Scared?”
Heart pounding a little too fast for a cooking lesson, Mia raised a mocking brow. “Of an egg?” She didn’t move, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his body, his hard front pressed to her back. She stood trapped between his heat and the stove. She stiffened. “I’ll get burned.” In more ways than one.
“I won’t let anything hurt you. Turn the burner to low. We’re going to do this nice and slow. French-style scrambled eggs must be seduced slowly.”
Her legs felt as insubstantial as jelly as she felt the hard length of his penis in the crack of her ass through the thin cotton of her shorts. Hot all over, all her nerve endings feeling exposed, Mia turned the knob on the stove as if hypnotized.
Why did he smell so damn good? As far as she was aware, he wore no cologne. Just sexy, soapy-clean male skin. Her brain darted to an image of him standing in the shower, a slow trail of foamy white soapsuds drizzling down his slick, wet body as slowly as a glacier, then pausing, like the yummy frosting on a cake, on the hard ridge of his—
Mia blinked the stove back into focus. Holy crap! Get a grip!
He reached around her, his arm brushing her breast, to adjust the knob on the stove.
Mia put a palm over the warm burner. “That low?” she asked dubiously. It was barely on. They’d be there all day waiting for breakfast at this rate, and she’d melt into a drooling puddle of lust before an egg was cracked.
His voice, husky and low, was right beside her ear. “As low as it can go.”
“Won’t it take forever to cook the . . . the . . .” What the hell were they cooking? “Eggs?”
“What’s your hurry?” His arms came around to cage her against him, one large hand flat on her belly. The heat of his fingers seared right through her cotton T-shirt, making Mia hot, then cold, then hot again. “Stand on your toes.” He waited until she did so before pressing her against his erection with the flat of his large hand low on her belly. “Put the pan on so it heats up slowly.”
Slightly off balance and all thumbs, Mia fumbled to get a grip on the skillet while he held her immobile, deft fingers opening the top button of her shorts. Surely he wasn’t . . . She wrestled the pan two-handed onto the burner with a loud clatter, so distracted she could barely see, let alone get a grip on the heavy pan.
Nuzzling her neck, he grazed his teeth along her nape. “Grab the bowl.” When he sank his teeth into her earlobe, sparks zinged directly between her legs. His hot breath made her shiver, and moisture pooled where those hot sparks sizzled. She bit back a moan. She should be galvanized into action. One of them had to be sensible. She stood inches from a hot stovetop. She’d get burned—just because she was captivated by the man seducing her. The kitchen was no place for sex. That’s what her bed was for.
Six eggs clattered inside the glass bowl as she dragged it closer to the stove. Her movement rubbed her butt enticingly against his erection.